I dreamed of him before I let myself remember that he was gone.
Santiago stood at the edge of the forest, sunlight tangled in his dark hair, watching me like he always did—quiet, alert, like the world might break if he looked away.
"You're staring," I said.
"I always stare," he replied.
I smiled.
Then I woke up.
And my chest collapsed inward.
Grief didn't come all at once.
It arrived in fragments—his jacket still smelling like smoke and pine, the indentation his body had left in the cabin floor, the silence where his breathing used to be at night.
Ruth stayed close but didn't speak much. She watched me like someone afraid I might vanish if she blinked.
I kept moving.
Hunters don't stop.
But every night, when sleep dragged me under, I searched for him.
He came back to me on the fourth night.
Not as a ghost.
As himself.
I knew immediately that it wasn't a dream.
The Veil opened softly, like it didn't want to scare me.
Santiago stood there—solid, breathing, very much alive.
I didn't speak.
Neither did he.
We just stared at each other, disbelief stretching between us like a held breath.
"You're alive," I finally whispered.
"Not the way you understand it," he said gently.
I crossed the space between us and touched his face.
Warm.
Real.
My knees almost gave out.
"I thought I lost you," I said.
"You almost did."
The words weren't a rebuke. They were a truth.
We sat together on the cabin steps, shoulder to shoulder, watching the Veil ripple faintly in the distance.
"You never told me," I said quietly.
"What?"
"Why you stayed."
He hesitated.
Then: "Because you didn't look at me like a weapon."
I turned toward him.
"You looked at me like I was still human."
Something fragile and dangerous unfolded between us.
"I was afraid," he continued, "that if I let myself want you, I'd fail you."
My heart twisted. "You never failed me."
His eyes softened. "You don't know that."
This time, when he kissed me, it wasn't desperate.
It was slow.
Careful.
Like we were both afraid the moment might shatter if we moved too fast.
His hand rested at my waist, grounding me, anchoring me to the world.
I kissed him back like I meant it.
Like I chose him.
When we pulled away, our foreheads touched.
"This doesn't make us safe," he said.
"I know."
"It makes us vulnerable."
I smiled faintly. "I already was."
Later, lying beside each other fully clothed, listening to the forest breathe, I asked the question that had been burning inside me.
"If this ends badly… will you regret it?"
He turned toward me, eyes steady.
"No," he said. "Because you remind me why the world is worth protecting."
Tears slid silently into my hair.
I let them fall.
He didn't tell me to be strong.
He just held me.
Outside, the Veil shifted.
Kristoffer was still out there.
The war wasn't over.
But for the first time since the nightmares began, I wasn't alone in the dark.
And that made all the difference.